


Attentive

by Adventures_in_Writing



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, No plot to see here folks, Tuckington - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-09
Updated: 2014-11-09
Packaged: 2018-02-24 17:22:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2589863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adventures_in_Writing/pseuds/Adventures_in_Writing
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Attentive is not usually a word that Washington would use to describe Lavernius Tucker.</p>
<p>However, right now, and for the past however many minutes, Lavernius Tucker has been the most attentive that Wash has ever witnessed. </p>
<p>Usually Wash would argue that Tucker never focuses anything. Apparently, that is not the case. Tucker can indeed focus on things. In fact, Tucker is very, very focused right now and his attention is set on one thing and one thing only.</p>
<p>Washington.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Attentive

**Author's Note:**

> I can’t believe I’m posting this… Enjoy the cute fluffiness? May or may not do a Ch. 2...

* * *

Attentive is not usually a word that Washington would use to describe Lavernius Tucker.  
  
However, right now, and for the past however many minutes, Lavernius Tucker has been the most attentive that Wash has ever witnessed.  
  
The part of his brain that isn’t overwhelmed by the way Tucker is kissing him would argue that Wash had simply never presented the soldier with an opportunity to be actively attentive. A smaller part would argue that being attentive has nothing to do with what the subject is and all to do with being focused. There had been plenty of opportunities for Tucker to be focused. He just didn’t choose to be.  
  
Usually Wash would argue that Tucker _never_ focuses anything. Apparently, that is not the case. Tucker can indeed focus on things. In fact, Tucker is very, very focused right now and his attention is set on one thing and one thing only.  
  
Washington.  
  
Tucker’s hands — warm and gentle — had slipped Washington’s shirt over his head moments ago. He spares a couple of seconds to gaze at Washington’s bare torso before leaning down to kiss him once more.  
  
Wash is still surprised at how Tucker kisses. With the way Tucker talks, Wash had assumed he would be sloppy or rough or use too much tongue or be too eager to be coordinated.  
  
He had been wrong.  
  
Tucker is being slow and tender, taking the time to learn just how Wash likes to be kissed. He hums softly as his tongue explores Tucker’s mouth still trying to come to terms with the fact that he is kissing the dark-skinned man. How many times had he thought of this exact moment? How many times had he told himself it wouldn’t ever happen?  
  
His skin tingles as Tucker’s hands wander over his body, fingers delicately tracing the curves of well-defined muscles and the bumps of old and new scars. Tucker breaks their kiss and he sits back, his gaze following the lines his hands trace.  
  
Tucker knows that Wash doesn’t find his body all that attractive; Tucker feels the same way about his own, but that doesn’t change his opinion of the man laying before him. Wash has a story: a beautiful, horrifying, sad story written all over him and Tucker loves him despite it all.  
  
He leans down, pressing a gentle kiss at Washington’s collar bone on a thin scar there that was from the early days of project freelancer.  
  
"Beautiful," he murmurs against Wash’s pale skin.  
  
"Don’t force yourself to say it," Wash whispers.  
  
"I’m not," Tucker says, looking directly at Washington. "I swear I’m not."  
  
He holds Wash’s face in his hands as he kisses him, just the way he likes it.  
Feeling a little more at ease, Washington relaxes beneath Tucker and his hands sneak under Tucker’s shirt, resting against his warm skin. Tucker smiles as he feels Wash’s hands slip a little higher, bringing the shirt with it. He pauses, taking a second to pull the shirt over his head.  
  
Wash cannot help but admire the man above him. Tucker’s recent training regime had toned his muscles considerably but that wasn’t the only thing that Wash was looking at. Like himself, Tucker’s body told the tale of a life in the army; a scar from a bullet wound on his right side, his more recent scar obtained by a knife wound on the left. A few inches beneath his belly button was a long scar which curved slightly as it reached across his pelvis. It wasn’t a particularly neat scar, almost as if whomever made it was working in a hurry. He knew the story behind that scar well enough and he traced his fingers over it carefully.  
  
Tucker lets Wash touch where he likes; after all, Wash does the same for him. He resists the urge to curl in on himself, to hide. The scar left by Junior is the thing he is most self-conscious about, though no one in his team had ever given him reason to feel that way. If he wants Washington to learn everything there is to know about him, Tucker can’t shy away.  
  
Wash pushes himself up into a seated position and he runs his hands up over Tucker’s chest. He glances up at the younger soldier as he draws a deep breath. Tucker loops his arms around Washington’s neck as he arches slightly into his hands.  
  
"You weren’t lying about sensitive nipples, were you?" Wash asks, an amused smile playing at his lips.  
  
Tucker grins. “Nope. But that’s the only hint you’ve got. You’ll have to figure out the rest on your own.”  
  
At some point they discard their underwear and Wash realises that he’s not entirely sure what to do. They have never gone quite this far before and rather than just reaching out and pressing his palm against Washington, trying to jerk him off as soon as he can, Tucker lets his hands curiously wander. His hands move over his abdomen, tracing the lines of the muscles there, circling his navel, following the line of his hip. Wash’s heart races and he draws a breath, the sensation of Tucker’s finger over his hip making him quiver. Tucker tilts his head curiously and draws his finger back and forth, paying close attention.  
  
The way Tucker teases him is wonderful but good God, does Wash wish he’d continue on. Wash makes a small whine and Tucker’s hand stills. Was that a good sound? Or a bad one? Wash makes the sound again, a little louder now that Tucker had stopped. Tucker leans down for a quick kiss and his brings his hand to grasp Wash’s hip, his thumb drawing circles.  
  
“This is okay?” he asks in a hushed voice.  
  
“Everything is okay,” Wash manages to say.  
  
“Everything?” Tucker asks.  
  
“ _Everything,_ ” Wash assures him.  
  
Tucker’s hands and lips and teeth and tongue find all of the places that make Wash sigh or groan or tense and relax. He figures it out so perfectly that Wash isn’t sure how Tucker does it in such a short amount of time. How does he know that he likes it more when Tucker kissees him in the dip of his collar bone rather than where it nears his shoulder? How does he know the difference between a ‘please kiss me’ sigh and an ‘oh, that’s good’ one? How does Tucker know that soft kisses or touches along his hip bones make him tremble with anticipation so much that it is almost impossible to not flinch?  How does he figure out that the way he whispers or sighs or whines “ _Lavernius_ ” means ‘for the love of all that is holy, _touch me_ ’?  
  
When Tucker’s hand finally closes around his cock, Wash is certain that Tucker has learned exactly how to unravel Washington in all of the right ways, to make him a trembling mess, desperate and silently pleading for release. He arches, holding Tucker tightly as a moan escapes him. Wash is pretty sure it’s Tucker’s name that tumbles from his lips. The younger of the two listens, watches, pays attention to how Wash moves and sounds and although he would dearly love to draw this out for as long as he can, it’s obvious that Wash can’t handle too much more. Ignoring his own desire for now, Tucker keeps his focus solely on Wash. He quickens the pace at which his hand moves, adding just a little more pressure that makes Wash gasp and shudder. So close. Tucker leans in and kisses Wash deeply as he brings the freelancer to the edge.  
  
As Tucker helps him ride out the waves of pleasure flooding him, Wash has a strange moment of clarity. Suddenly it all makes sense.  
  
He recalls how Tucker explored his body, almost every inch. He can recall curious touches, whispered questions, complete awareness of how Washington reacted, how Tucker would stop with no questions asked if Wash said no or seemed unsure. How nothing in the past however long was more important than Wash and what he was feeling.  
  
Attentive is definitely a word that Washington would use.


End file.
